


The Prince

by princehamlet



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Modern AU, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princehamlet/pseuds/princehamlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Romeo meets the oddly charming Danish prince at one of his very own Montague parties, he doesn't expect to form such  close bond with the estranged man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic I wrote, I just wanted to transfer formats.

Romeo heaved a deep sigh as he rose from his bed. An instant chill clung to his bare skin, and he rubbed his arms, trying to wear down the cold. His digital clock read 8:02 AM -- only 13 minutes before his alarm would go off. A smile forced its way on to his lips; he was glad not to be woken by the harsh buzzing noises Mercutio had set it to.

Minutes later, Romeo had dressed, brushed his teeth, and washed his face. He gazed at his face in the mirror for a short while -- his blond bangs clung to his wet forehead, and his gray-blue eyes looked void, the dark circles underneath not helping to improve his vacant expression. Today was going to be a long day. Romeo could feel it in the way there felt like there was a weight in his stomach, like heavy stones. He tried not to look at his unmade bed which sounded so appealing. As he left his room, his alarm promptly went off.

His suspicions were quite right, as the second he closed his door, people were rushing all about the house, getting ready for the party that was to be that night. So that was what the heavy feeling was about -- dreaded socialization. Was it too late to go back to bed? He barely had a chance to look back at his door longingly before his mother had grabbed him in passing.

"Romeo, dear, you've slept so late." She said, pursing her lips in slight distaste despite the kind words emitting from her mouth. She brushed his bangs to the side with her sharp-nailed hand and he promptly shook his head to put them back in their place across his forehead.

"I don't wake up at 6 like you do, mama." He said, an easy, tired smile playing on his lips.

"Well, I hope you're not wearing that to tonight's party." She said teasingly, gesturing to his ripped-up jeans and low-cut t-shirt.

"I won't." Romeo said, but paused a moment later in thought. He, then, asked: "Mama, do I have to go to the party tonight? I, uh ... I wanted to spend the night with Balthazar, we had a game of chess planned." A lie.

"Romeo!" Lady Montague exclaimed sternly, seeming displeased at her son's excuse. "You have to go and make an appearance. What will people say if you're not there? -- It's already pushing it that you're always with that Escalus boy so publicly. Besides," one of her clever smirks enveloped her lips, "I think you'll find a certain guest tonight... interesting. He's very well esteemed."

"Who's the guest?"

"Well, you'll just have to come and see, won't you?" She pressed a kiss to his cheek and made her way upstairs, and he sighed. Now he was curious-- curse her cleverness!

He made his way downstairs for breakfast, which he ate in a dragging fashion, having no appetite to motivate him. What did motivate him, however, was when his phone began to emit Taylor Swift's _Love Story_. In embarrassment, he didn't meet the judging glances of those around him as he picked up the call and chewed his food.

"Romeo." He said, slightly muffled from his mouthful of pancakes. "Who is this?"

"Beyoncé."

"Good morning, Mercutio." He couldn't help but smile.

"Don't you good morning me. Are you not as hungover as me?" Mercutio slurred into the phone.

"No, I was hanging out with poor, sick Benvolio at home. "

"Right-- that was Tybalt drinking with me, not you." He chuckled dryly, which turned into a soft groan moments later. Romeo envisioned him rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.

"Sounds like you had a fun night." He said in a purposefully suggestive tone, taking a long sip of orange juice and being happy to not be Mercutio right now.

"Oh, shut up, lover boy. Speaking of fun nights, you ready for tonight?" Mercutio sounded about as enthusiastic as Romeo was about the upcoming party. "Me and Val got an invite from your dad, and I honestly want to go like I want a hole in my head... but my Uncle gave me the whole lecture, uh, y'know, about how I'm pushing it--"

"My mom, too, just now. 'It's already pushing it that you're always with that Escalus boy', she said."

"Romeo, you complete me."

"Hey, get this--" Romeo said, brushing off the others snide comment with a chuckle. "She also said that there would be a special guest or something-- like, she said I'll think he's interesting. I'm trying to figure out who it is. Not your uncle, right?"

"My uncle is about as interesting as wet paint, buddy, you know that." Mercutio drawled with a yawn. "Maybe it's a prince. Maybe he's cute."

"See you laaater, bye," Romeo said hurriedly, and he could hear Mercutio's laughter on the other end.

"Wait, wait, wait, hold up!" Said the latter in between exhausted giggles. "I'm gonna be at your place around 7, 'kay? Hey -- is Benny coming?"

"No, didn't I just say he's sick?" Romeo said, finishing up his breakfast and pushing his plate away. "Believe me, I'm second best in this situation. It'll just be you and me."

"-- And the cute guest."

"Bye!" He quickly hung up, grinning to imagine how Mercutio must be laughing. Or, you know, vomiting because of his hangover. Either way, he would see him there tonight, to meet this mysterious, possibly interesting, possibly cute guest.


	2. Chapter  2

Part of him always felt sort of like a sad clown when he wore the tux his father had bought for him. It fit him surprisingly well, but gave him a look all too somber for his liking. Plus, in addition to that, his hair brushed down in such a way made him feel like a Ken doll. Romeo averted his eyes from the mirror the second he heard a knocking at his door. "Who is it?" He asked as he adjusted his cuffs. 

"Room service." said Mercutio as he peeked in. "You're not naked, are you?"

"Oh, be serious."  
"I am wild."

"Don't you quote _Les Miserables_ at me, not tonight!" Exclaimed Romeo in mock despair, attempting to push the door closed in a playful manner. Mercutio shoved his way in, slinging his arm around his shoulders. 

"You look snazzy." complimented Mercutio as Romeo ducked underneath him, laughing heartily. 

"You don't look so bad yourself!" Romeo said, and it was true. His friend always cleaned up really nice, even if it didn't suit his messy style. Mercutio wore a dark purple blazer-- the color of his family-- and a black tie and pants. His hair was pulled back into a well-brushed, curly ponytail, and his dark eyes gleamed with their ever-present spark of mischief.

"Why, thank you. Shall we go, my lady?" Mercutio said, offering his arm.  
"Oh, yes," said Romeo in a feminine tone as he laced his arm with his friend, and they left the room laughing joyfully. Despite Mercutio's exhaustion and Romeo's lack of enthusiasm for the party, they both complemented each other and made the whole situation more pleasant. 

The Montague's vast living room was filled to the brim with people. People were skimming the walls, dancing in the middle, and there were a few people in the hallways looking at family portraits or drinking wine. Romeo felt his spirits lift as he noticed Mercutio smiling his white-toothed smile: his friend was completely enveloped in his quest to find the secret guest they had discussed earlier that morning. 

"How are we going to find him if we don't have any details?" Mercutio asked plainly, distracted by his task in looking at every single house guest. 

"I'll go find my mom and ask -- why don't you get something to drink?"

"Oogh," Mercutio groaned, closing his eyes and putting both hands on his stomach. "Don't say the _d_ -word-- drinking... If I see any wine, I'll throw up all over you. Can I go to your fridge and get some lemonade?"

"Knock yourself out." Romeo replied, laughing at his friends familiarity. Any other guest would have been kicked out on such an almost-rude statement. Romeo waited until his friend was out of sight into a completely different room, then left to go find his mother. Lady Montague stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of guests -- she wore that sequined blue dress that Romeo had advised against getting. She was already a bit tipsy when Romeo found her. 

"Romeo!" She cried in delight, "Let me introduce you to--"

"Hi, nice to meet you." He smiled tightly and shook the stranger's hand before turning to his mother, addressing her in a whisper. "Mama, who-- or, where -- is that guest you told me about this morning?"

"Oh! The guest?" She said in a non-subtle shout, and he ducked his head away from her to avoid getting his eardrums blasted out. "He's quite funny, dear, quite funny. He should be... ahh..." She stood on her tip-toes, attempting to see over the crowd of heads. "That-- that one in black, yes, right there in the corner."

Romeo looked at the guest she was pointing at. He was engaged with a red-headed Montague cousin, smiling pleasantly. He held a small glass of champagne in his hand quite elegantly. Romeo cursed to himself; he _was_ cute, and Mercutio would be delighted. Romeo was, frankly, hoping for someone ugly and insane, as immature as it was. He waited until the man was done talking to the girl before walking across the room to speak to him. 

"Good evening." Romeo said awkwardly, holding out his hand. "My name's Romeo Montague, I'm the heir of this house. My mother told me about you. What's your name?"

The guest had quite the sharp and slick appearance up close. His face was clean-cut, his hair slicked cleanly to the side. His dark eyes were slightly heavy-lidded, and he had dark circles to match Romeo's. But his smile was very friendly nonetheless; he was good at playing the I'm-from-a-polite-rich-family game, unlike Romeo, who was rusty.

"Hamlet." He said quite gracefully, enveloping Romeo's hand in a very strong grip. Romeo wanted to laugh, but didn't-- what kind of name was Hamlet? Mercutio surely wouldn't have the self-control not to laugh at loud. 

"Hamlet," was all Romeo could say, repeating it as if for remembrance. 

"I know it's funny-- but that's not really it." Said the man, looking bashfully into his bubbling drink, the same smile on his face. " _Amleth Rodericke_. Definitely not a common name here. Or anywhere."

"-- Oh? Where are you from?" Romeo was charmed with the way the words rolled off his tongue in such a graceful manner.

"I live in Denmark, but I've been around Germany-- for school."

"What brings you to Italy?" Romeo felt his confidence in the conversation building, given that he was genuinely interested. 

"My mother knows your prince," He said extremely casually, but something in him seemed to drop in happiness, like a fraction of his smile was lost. "She insisted I come and socialize, and hearing I was in town, I was invited to some parties. _No, we insist,_ they'd say, _just come around for a drink, we won't tell your mother._ " His eyebrows quirked upwards, and he discreetly sipped his champagne. "In between all of the irresponsibility, here I am."

"Ooh." said Romeo, breaking eye contact for a moment to notice Mercutio coming in, drinking out of a plastic red cup of lemonade. His gaze lingered on his friend for a moment before he realized he had rudely dropped his conversation with Hamlet, who was still staring. "Oh, I-- I-- um, who is your mother?" His cheeks crimsoned at his lack of grace.

Hamlet noticed and chuckled. "Queen Gertrude of Denmark."

Romeo's jaw dropped. "You're -- oh my G--" Hamlet only laughed some more at this reaction. "The Prince of Denmark. You--... wow." Romeo chuckled nervously, pressing a hand to his warm cheek, as if feeling how embarrassed he was would make him, somehow, less. "I'm embarrassing myself in front of the Prince of Denmark."

"No, no, you're alright." Hamlet laughed. "Here, let me get you something to drink."

Romeo was shocked. This guy was acting like he wasn't the guest in the situation! But he accepted the glass of wine from the other nonetheless, thanking him vigorously. That was when Mercutio stepped on to the scene. 

"Hey, Romeo, you gonna introduce me to your friend?" He entered effortlessly, leaning on Romeo's shoulder with his eyes trained on Hamlet. Mercutio's whole expression screamed _RED ALERT: THIS IS DEFINITELY THE CUTE GUEST._ (And Hamlet knew it.)

"Mercutio, this is Prince Hamlet -- he's from, um, Denmark." Romeo explained. The words felt so heavy with title and dignity on his lips. "Hamlet, this is Mercutio. He's the Prince's nephew." 

"Ah." Hamlet said, holding out his hand. "My pleasure, Mercutio."

"The pleasure is all mine, _believe_ me." Mercutio replied, smiling slyly. He shared a second-long glance to Romeo, and then moments later, his arm was slung around Hamlet's shoulders and he was indiscreetly guiding him away from the Montague. "Here, Hamlet, let me introduce you to-- believe me, I know everyone, I really get around-- ah, this is my friend! ...Funny story, actually..."

Romeo laughed. Hamlet turned his head to look at Romeo one last time, his expression reading: "Please help me!" Romeo only waved.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the poor prince had returned to Romeo's side, he was quite exhausted from his adventure with Mercutio. His had lost his composure in the time he had gone, and actually looked very tired. Hamlet's dark circles under his eyes seemed much more prominent now that he had lost his straight posture and friendly smile. 

"You look like you could use a drink," Romeo said, pouring him water into a wine glass. Hamlet accepted it with very apparent gratitude, chugging it down heartily. 

"Thank you. That man," He exhaled heavily, setting the glass down on the table. "talks... _a lot._ I never thought I'd see the day -- he-- he knows _so many people._ He has a lot of stories to tell -- most of which are about you." Hamlet smiled, raising a brow. "Rosaline, huh?"

 _Damn you, Mercutio!_ Romeo screamed internally, crimsoning once more. "Uh-- yeah. Let's not talk about that. Has he told you about his little affair with the Capulet weapon bearer?"

"Every detail." Hamlet said, and they laughed.

Hamlet proceeded to explain how after introducing him to everyone and anyone, telling a few stories, and having a few drinks, he told him he felt sick and left, hurrying away. Romeo wondered if it was because he was really was still sick, or if he just got tired of company. That was something that happened to Mercutio sometimes, and Romeo didn't blame him for going -- he only wished he had said goodbye. But the thought didn't linger in his mind for long. 

Romeo and Hamlet made their way outside on to the balcony on Hamlet's request -- he said it was getting a little stuffy. It was true; it was the climax of the night, the hysteria, excitement and happiness of the dancing and drinks at its prime. Romeo felt the nostalgic cold climb up his neck once more, and he immediately pulled his blazer closer around his chest. He glanced to Hamlet next to him, who was lighting a cigarette, looking very picturesque. 

"Want one?" He offered, noticing the others gaze.

"No, thank you." Romeo said, and paused, watching the other smoke and look out into Verona while he thought. "So, Hamlet, have you got anyone special back in Denmark?" He asked. He didn't know why he asked it; he was sure Mercutio must've asked previously.

"Mercutio asked this," Hamlet chuckled airily, confirming Romeo's thoughts. "I do. Her name is Ophelia-- she's the daughter of my uncle's assistant." He paused, considering, before saying, "I think she's very beautiful, but I'm not sure if I'd like to marry her." 

"Why's that?"

Hamlet paused again, decisively considering his words. "I quite love Ophelia," he said. "But there's another I love as well. I'd like to think about my own marriage before my mother tries to push me into it." He stopped abruptly, as if he'd no longer like to talk about it. Romeo could sense the more private air around Hamlet, so he didn't push him to explain. 

"I know the feeling all too well." Was all he said. 

"So Mercutio's told me." They chuckled briefly, and the conversation dropped. 

After a while, Romeo decided to take a chance and ask a question. "Hamlet... do you, um-- like your mother?"

Hamlet's eyes seemed to widen a bit, and he turned his head to look at Romeo. "What makes you ask that?" His voice seemed a bit defensive, and Romeo felt like he had committed a serious blunder.

"No, I mean -- I'm sorry. That was rude." He said nervously. "When you mentioned her earlier, knowing the prince of Verona, you seemed kind of -- I don't know. I don't know, it was a stupid question, I shouldn't have--"

"I understand." interrupted the prince, looking solemnly away from Romeo again. "No, you're right. I'm on strained terms with her, at the moment. That's all." He ended firmly, like he didn't want to talk about it. Romeo was mentally hitting himself. 

They sat in silence for longer. Hamlet offered him a cigarette again -- this time, Romeo accepted. There was something about being with the prince that was oddly calming, like it was okay to silent, or awkward. It was okay to accidentally ask rude questions. It was like Hamlet understood the nature of people better than most nobles did. Romeo greatly appreciated this, his heart swelling for his newfound companion. 

Hamlet was feeling likewise. After seeing that he could trust the other, he picked up on their previous topic. "... When I left for Wittenberg, I met a man there. He didn't treat me like a prince. Even better, he didn't treat me like a would-be King, or like anyone's son." He took a drag on his cigarette, looking tired. His voice seemed to drop to a lower volume. "It didn't take long for me to fall in love with him."

Romeo blinked in surprise at this sudden openness. "Does Ophelia know?"

Hamlet paused thoughtfully at this. "I'm not sure. Yes, maybe."

Romeo sighed, leaning heavily against the railing. "Doesn't romance just make you ache?" He wasn't sure where the statement came from -- perhaps from his poetic diary -- but it came nonetheless. Hamlet chuckled in response. 

" _Yes._ "

After that, the two talked about nearly everything. It was as if they couldn't get out enough words; the mutual trust had then been established strongly and they both felt it. They talked endlessly -- about Hamlet's childhood and his father leaving, about the long glances his mother and his uncle would share, about Horatio's freckled face and delicate hands, Ophelia's long red hair and sharp eyes, about his big room in the castle at Denmark and his little dorm room at Wittenberg. Romeo shared everything as well -- Rosaline's pink lips, the feud he had grown up in, about the scars he had in odd places from odd fights, about how Mercutio had accidentally been his first kiss -- everything from the white streak in Tybalt's hair to the way the Verona sun gave him sunburns.

When they went back inside, the party was long over, but a couple or two still stood slow-dancing. 

"I can't believe we talked for so long." Hamlet said, worriedly. "My mother is going to be furious. I should go." 

"Alright," Romeo responded, smiling. 

"Let me put my number in your phone?"

Romeo was shocked. He pulled out his phone from inside his jacket. "Uh-- please do!" 

"Give it to Mercutio, too, won't you?" Hamlet said, his smile that same smile Romeo had seen earlier in the night. "I didn't get a chance to this evening, and, well -- he's cute. It'd be an honor to see you two again someday."

"Someday?"

"I've got to go back to Wittenberg, Romeo."

"Oh, right." They both laughed. "Tonight was fun, Hamlet."

"Agreed."

Romeo watched him go. He said that where he was staying wasn't far at all, and that he would like to walk and think. _No,_ he insisted, _I won't get mugged, I'll be fine, I promise._ Moments before leaving, Hamlet laced his arm around Romeo's shoulders and hugged him. 

"Thank you," he murmured, "for understanding it all." 

Then, he was gone.

Romeo went to bed that night, the cold creeping up his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He thought about everything that had happened. 

Pulling out his phone and squinting at its brightness, he opened to Mercutio's number and texted:

_Hamlet called you cute._


	4. Epilogue

They texted each other often after that night. Hamlet's name in Romeo's phone went from being "Prince Hamlet" to "Omlette" in the span of two days. Their conversations were either ridiculously silly -- "Romeo, look at this cat video. Isn't it adorable? I miss my cat. Have I told you about my cat?"  
\-- to horrendously serious.

Romeo still remembered the morning Hamlet told him his father had died.

Hamlet invited him up to the funeral. When they saw each other, they hugged, Hamlet only returning the touch half-heartedly. He looked exhausted and sad-- his eyes were puffy. He had been crying. Romeo definitely noticed the way his mother clung to his uncle's arm, or hid her face in his neck, weeping silently. Romeo knew it wasn't right. This wasn't the Hamlet he met in Verona. Not the clear-faced, bright-smiling young heir who ached with love and sadness. This Hamlet was enveloped in utter despair and depression, and Romeo wished he could help him more. He, however, noticed Horatio's hand fall over Hamlet's during the service, and he somehow smiled. Everything would turn out alright... wouldn't it?

He couldn't stay for the wedding of his mother and uncle. All he could do was walk off the horrendous swelling of pity in his heart for his Danish friend; walk off the disgust of the whole affair. Walk off the rotten atmosphere that was spreading like sickness in Denmark. 

Hamlet didn't text him again-- not once -- after that. The next time Romeo saw his name was in a news headline that the Prince of Denmark had been killed after the murder of several people.

Mercutio appeared at Romeo's door seemingly moments after he forwarded the headline to him. He embraced him, and Romeo felt tears erupt from the very pit of his soul for his deceased friend. 

"Thank you for understanding it all." Hamlet had said to him, that day. But Romeo hadn't understood. Not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
